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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27116291">Pour One Out</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/icaruslaughed/pseuds/icaruslaughed'>icaruslaughed</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Suptober 2020 [16]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Flashbacks, Hunter's Funeral (Supernatural), John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Underage Drinking, technically anyways</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:35:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>556</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27116291</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/icaruslaughed/pseuds/icaruslaughed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>day 19 of suptober; set post- Cas's speculated death in 15x18</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Suptober 2020 [16]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1955047</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Pour One Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Legally, he’s too young to drink.</p><p>Mentally, he may as well be a few eons old.</p><p>Either way, he deserves a drink. He deserves to let the almost sweet whiskey burn its way down his throat and slowly numb the pain. He can feel the pain, this time. There are no strangers on the pyre. He has a soul. He truly <em> feels </em> the loss this time.</p><p>Dean told him to hold his flask so he could light the fire and he’s still holding it now, debating whether or not he’ll get in trouble for taking a swig. <em> What does he have to lose now anyway? </em> He takes a small sip, coughing a little as it goes down, and the brothers both look over at him.</p><p>“M’okay,” he gets out after the feeling as if he’ll throw up fades to a slight burn in the back of his throat. He realises that he now has to deal with whatever repercussions come with stealing someone’s alcohol, but Dean just shrugs. A shadow falls over his face as if he’s lost in some sort of distant memory. Jack looks at him a second longer before a scene pops into his head. A memory, perhaps. Not his but...Dean’s? He doesn’t seem to realise that he’s showing whatever this is to Jack, and he tries his best to not look and shove it out of his mind, he does, but then it comes back, stronger this time to the point where it must be deliberate. He gives in.</p><p>
  <em> A street lamp illuminates two familiar faces. Both of them are younger, much younger, by perhaps a quarter of a century. A tear falls from the eye of the smaller one, at which he instantly stiffens and tries to inconspicuously wipe it away. The larger one notices, however, and his once stoic face crumples, hand tightening on the flask he holds. Wordlessly, he offers it to the smaller figure who takes it almost immediately and takes a long swig, plunging into a coughing fit upon swallowing. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The larger figure pats the younger one’s back and tells him, “It’s okay, Dean. My first ever sip was pretty rough, too. Come on, suck it up, you’re okay.” Dean calms down eventually and passes the flask back. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Sorry. Thanks, Dad,” he whispers. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “S’okay, kiddo.” John unscrews the cap as he explains, “Here, I’m gonna teach you a little tradition. Whenever someone we care about, or just someone we want to honor, dies and we have a drink on hand, we normally pour a little out on their grave.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Why?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Dunno; I never really thought about it. Guess it’s just a sign of respect. Here, I want you to do it.” </em>
</p><p><em> Dean takes the flask from his father’s hand and splashes a little on his mother's grave, tears falling freely now. “</em>She’s really gone now, huh?<em>” he thinks to himself. It’s been over ten years since she died and this is the first time he’s ever really visited her grave. </em></p><p>
  <em> Better late than never, in this life. </em>
</p><p>Jack looks over at Dean, the value of the precious memory he shared not at all lost on him. He gives his dad a short nod, and pours a little whiskey on the ground just in front of them.</p><p>“For Cas,” he says.</p><p>“For Cas,” they echo.</p><p>
  <em> For Cas. </em>
</p>
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